Yes, my overbooked fall is in full swing and, as expected, I am insanely busy. So busy, in fact, that I am not getting to do my favorite thing very often, which is post to this blog.
But I do have to tell you the strangest thing that happened today.
I walk Bo every single day. I’ve done that for 12+ years. We’ve met a lot of crazy people in those years, but who we ran into today really surpassed anything we’ve experienced.
A woman, rushing to her car, stopped to pet Bo (who is a complete glutton for affection). (And turkey.) (And anything edible, and some things that aren’t.) (Like plastic bags and hair bands, which aren’t pretty coming out the other end.)
I apologized for his enthusiasm and she said, “Oh, no, don’t apologize. I love dogs. We actually just put ours to sleep.”
If you’re a dog person, you, too, would have responded with a heartfelt, “Oh, no, I’m so sorry. How old was he?” I ask, because Bo is old as far as Labs go, and he doesn’t seem to know it. So I love hearing that a fellow dog made it to 18 or 20 or something.
Four?? Holy cow.
“Wow, that’s terrible!” Hand to my heart for effect. “What happened?”
“He had anxiety issues.”
“Big anxiety issues. It was really rough.”
YOU MURDERED YOUR DOG BECAUSE HE WAS NERVOUS?
“He was a wreck,” she confided.
What I wanted to say: “Yeah, lady, he was an anxious wreck because he spent his life knowing you wanted to kill him.”
What I did say: “No offense, but I’m really glad I’m not your dog.”
She didn’t laugh.
I don’t think I’ll be invited to that block party this year.